


Best Laid Plans

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e04 Metamorphosis, Gen, Jossed, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-11
Updated: 2008-10-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a plan for telling Dean about his powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Plans

Sam has a plan for telling Dean about his powers, his development, his ... relationship ... with Ruby. He's got it all lined up in his head like a checklist. It goes something like:

  1. Tell Dean about working with Ruby to develop psychic powers.
  2. Wait for Dean to freak out.
  3. Convince him nothing bad is going to happen.



It's a good plan, a simple plan. Easy to keep track of.

It goes belly-up the minute he gets to the part about killing demons with his brain. Or, more precisely, the minute he accidentally demonstrates what his new powers can do. The last wisps of charred demon-smoke are still dissolving when Dean starts yelling.

"You _what?_ " Dean shakes his head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry, I thought I heard you say something about working with a fucking _demon_ to develop your fucking _demonic powers_." He stares Sam down with hard eyes. "Maybe I should get my hearing checked, huh?"

"Come on, Dean. You heard me." Sam stares right back at him, arms crossed over his chest. "Ruby's been helping me get a handle on this psychic stuff, and it's _working_. I've taken down more demons in the last four months than we managed together in the past year with the Colt. It's like part of my brain woke up and just knew what to do, and it's--Dean, it's _easy_. It's getting easier all the time. No devil's trap, no Latin, no knife or gun or anything. Just--"

"Just you?"

Dean's face is closed off tighter than a vault, jaw clenched so hard it's a wonder he can even speak. He reminds Sam of Dad in that moment, and he feels a wave of misplaced longing for his father, expects to hear his gruff voice barking out orders. Then Sam blinks and Dean is himself again, stubborn and angry and afraid.

"Sam, think about it," he's saying. "Where do these freaky powers of yours come from? Who gave 'em to you? Yellow-Eyes and his famous plan, remember? Those powers are his, Sammy. Nothing good's gonna come of what that bastard did to you."

"That's my _point!_ " Sam throws his hands out, getting frustrated. "I'm supposed to be leading the demon army, not destroying it piece by piece. I'm doing exactly the opposite of what he wanted, Dean. I'm using these abilities to help people! To save lives!"

"Oh, really?" Dean lifts his chin, eyes glinting dangerously. "Doesn't look that way to me."

He nudges the corpse at their feet, the latest victim in Sam's personal war against Azazel's demons. It's a young man, blond and boyish, whose blank staring gaze seems fixed on Sam in accusation.

"You think this guy's just sleeping, Sam? Or are you happy with the collateral damage?"

Sam's struggled with the morality of killing human hosts since he started doing this, and it's one thing that hasn't gotten any easier. He's guilty and sick and ashamed that he can't control it, doesn't have the skill to separate the demon from a living host. He's not at all sure that killing the demons makes up for the loss of human life, and Ruby's not exactly the best moral compass. Sam has tried to concentrate on finding Lilith, the end justifying the means, but it's shaky ground and he knows it. For Dean to focus on that--it's like pressing on a fresh bruise.

"You really think that?" Sam asks in a low voice. "You think I don't care anymore as long as I can just, what--keep killing?"

"You tell me," Dean says, getting right up in his face, eyebrow raised and lip curled. "How many lives you saved lately, Sam?"

Sam doesn't think; he just reacts. A muscle in his brain flexes, _so_ , and Dean is picked up and flung twelve feet backward, coming up hard against the wall. He rebounds and lands on the floor, wheezing for air, and looks up at Sam with eyes full of shocked disbelief.

Sam is more than a little shocked himself. He didn't even _consider_ , didn't choose, he just--attacked. Attacked _Dean_ , like it was nothing, throwing his brother halfway across the room without blinking.

Sam begins to wonder if maybe Dean might have a point.

"Dean--" he starts, taking a step, but stops abruptly when Dean bares his teeth in a bloody snarl. He's bitten through his lip; scarlet drips down his chin and patters lightly to the floor, bright splatters of colour on dull beige carpet. Sam hides a shudder at the sight. He's seen enough of Dean's blood to last him a lifetime. He never wanted to spill it himself.

"Are you okay?" he tries again, but Dean only laughs, spits blood to one side and drags himself upright, leaning against the wall until he catches his breath.

"Oh, yeah," Dean says, but it's not an answer. "I can see _just_ how good Ruby's been for you." He glares at Sam, wiping his arm across his face, smearing the blood. "What the hell were you thinking? She's a fucking demon, Sam--how many times do I have to say it before it sinks in? I don't care if she's bringing you flowers and candy hearts--she's _evil_. And you're a fucking idiot if you trust a thing she says."

Sam grits his teeth against the growl forming in his throat. Dean sounds dismissive, superior, just like he did in the old days, when he was the older brother who knew everything and Sam was a clumsy teenager who couldn't load a gun without help. Those days are long gone, but Sam thinks Dean doesn't realise it yet. He thinks maybe it's time Dean did.

He slams Dean into the wall again, pinning him there. The look of surprise on Dean's face makes him grin. He feels mean and juvenile.

" _I_ went to _her_ ," Sam says, and Dean stops struggling. "I asked her to teach me, Dean. And you know something? She said no. She said no twelve times, until I got so angry I smashed all the windows in a warehouse just by yelling. After that, she said I needed to learn some control." He relaxes his hold and Dean slides down the wall. "So don't try to pin it on Ruby. This is my doing, Dean. _Mine_."

"Castiel was right," Dean whispers, staring at him in horror. "Sam, _no_."

"Castiel?" Sam snorts. "What does he have to do with anything? You wanna talk about not being trustworthy, Dean--he's a prime example. What the hell good has he done for us since he started hanging around?" He looks at Dean, tilts his head thoughtfully. "Unless there's something going on with you two that you're not telling me."

He grins again at Dean's furious inhale, driven further by something he can't control.

"You getting a little divine attention on the side, Dean? Getting groped by an angel and liking it?"

He hears the words come out of his mouth before he can believe he's saying them. Then Dean's own control snaps and he comes charging across the room, catching Sam in a flying tackle that ends with them both on the floor. Sam rolls with it, trying to get free, but Dean's got him in a full body lock and he clings like a fucking limpet. They flail and wrestle across the floor, crashing into furniture: Sam landing hits and gouges and kicks wherever he can, Dean absorbing the blows and crushing Sam in a vice-like grip, arms and legs banded tight around him, his teeth digging into Sam's shoulder for good measure.

The stalemate endures for long minutes, Sam growing more and more infuriated as he tries to get free and can't. Dean rolls them over again, bashes Sam's head into the floor and pushes his face down hard, and that's just _it_. Sam heaves up and back with mind and body, grabbing Dean's arm and flipping him over until he's got Dean spread out on the floor at his feet.

"So," Dean pants, looking about as pissed as Sam's ever seen him. "Wanna tell me again how noble and righteous and pure your new powers are?"

He stares up at Sam with scornful eyes, flat on his back and unable to move but not giving an inch regardless. Sam clenches his hands into fists and stares back, fighting down the urge in his blood that's become second nature, the desire to _pull_ and _twist_ and _force_ until everything inside Dean rises up and spills into the air, out in the open where he can char it into dust.

Sam stares at his brother for long minutes and actively forces himself not to kill. This is Dean. This is his brother. Dean went to hell for him, and Sam--

Nausea builds in his stomach like poison. This is ... it's wrong, holding Dean this way, looming over him like some ( _demon_ ) sick fuck, glorying in his helplessness. Dean isn't supposed to be at Sam's mercy--at _anyone's_ mercy. He's _Dean_ ; that's not the way it goes.

Sam remembers the last time he saw someone standing over his brother, feels a hot yellow gaze cut through his memory. He gags, dry-retches, a painful rasp of bile.

"Sam," Dean says, his eyes changing into something softer, but Sam can't listen. He shakes his head and stumbles blindly to the door, nearly tripping down the porch steps to the Impala. This is second nature now, too; the car rumbles and purrs to life, a more comforting reminder of Dean than the man himself, left sprawled out and helpless on the grimy motel floor, yelling Sam's name.

Dean's not supposed to be helpless, especially at Sam's hands. So why did Sam _like_ it so damn much?

Sam guns the engine, lets Dean go, and peels out of the parking lot. He needs to find Ruby.

They need to talk.

END


End file.
